


we're not out of the tunnel (oh, i bet you though there's an end)

by sasqwitch



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Character Study (Sorta), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, i just want peter and jet to be friends, no shame in the peter nureyev alias generator, season two spoilers, this boy is Feeling some Things, written post finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2019-10-19 21:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17609279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasqwitch/pseuds/sasqwitch
Summary: title from "I Will" by Mitski.Peter Nureyev couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t that he was nervous. Peter Nureyev didn’t get nervous. Peter Nureyev was calm and collected, because even if the world was shattering to pieces around him he knew that he would make it out alive. Alive, though not necessarily well.  Up to a certain point, that hadn’t mattered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> takes place concurrently with "Juno Steel & The Soul of the People Part II", mostly in Peter's own head.
> 
> also, this is completely un-beta'd, so any mistakes are my own fault.

Peter Nureyev couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t that he was nervous. Peter Nureyev didn’t get nervous. Peter Nureyev was calm and collected, because even if the world was shattering to pieces around him he knew that he would make it out alive. Alive, though not necessarily well. Up to a certain point, that hadn’t mattered.

The issue at hand, though, was that he hadn’t been Peter Nureyev for quite some time. Nearly two years, in his estimation. That's a long time to forget (repress, but he was loathe to admit it) one’s true identity, on top of the years of denial before that one fleeting, glorious moment wherein he was allowed to be exactly himself.

At the moment, he was Ira Quill. Much like Peter Nureyev, Ira Quill was a master thief, suave and calculating, able to navigate even the stickiest of situations. What distinguished the two was a stark lack of emotional baggage. Quill had grown up with doting parents, poor though they were, and siblings both found and biological running around his home. He’d fallen into crime not because he had to, but because he wanted to; he’d had a Robin Hood complex from birth, it would seem. Though you wouldn’t know it to talk to him, Quill was devastatingly sentimental. He never forgot a name, face, or story. He never had to. There were no locked doors in his mind that would swing open at a moment’s provocation, reducing him to a sobbing, undignified mess at inopportune times. No one left Ira Quill, because he was good enough to make them want to stay.

Ira Quill had never met Juno Steel.

Of course, Peter had to dispense of that particular fact– repeated over and over in his mind whenever he felt particularly bowled over by emotion– when Buddy Aurinko recruited Quill for the mission.

The specifics of the mission went directly over his head–– something something, important, something something, dangerous–– it didn’t matter. Buddy’s mistake was beginning with the list of people she’d involved. As soon as he’d heard the name Juno Steel, he’d been sunk. Peter’s mistake was letting on he knew the dame in the first place.

In his defense, the noise that came out of him at the mention of the detective was entirely involuntary.

(It wasn’t a squeak. Peter Nureyev certainly did not squeak, and neither did Ira Quill.)

“You alright there, Quill? Not going to be a problem, is it?” She’d regarded him with measured suspicion.

“No, no. Of course not. I’ve… tangled with the dear detective before, but it’s nothing we can’t put behind us!” He replied, practically oozing false cheer and confidence.

“Good. I don’t want to say I have a soft spot for him, but he’s the kind of guy who’ll do right by you. In his own way. Angrily.” She didn’t quite believe him, he could tell, but trusted his word enough not to push the matter.

“Indeed.” Peter muttered to himself more than Buddy.

The kind of guy who will do right by you. Well, that’s one interpretation of events. He won’t do right by himself, that’s for certain. Of course, he might have changed in the years since their last meeting. The world-weary P.I. he knew would never have left Hyperion City–– of that much he was sure. Had to be. After all, Hyperion City was what had stolen Juno away from him. Peter had spent a good part of the first year or so after the incident in the hotel room hating the place. Every one of his aliases had been there, and had unequivocally hated the place; it brought him no small amount of joy when his marks shared that hatred. Around the beginning of the second year, he’d began to feel an odd sort of nostalgia. The burn of shame and self loathing had faded (at least, as much as it was going to) and he was left longing for a time when the shine of the city didn’t seem quite so menacing, the jagged skyline not so devastatingly lonely.

He’d been in denial about the whole affair, even as he boarded the spaceship he’d have to call home for the next who-knows-how-long. He tried–mostly in vain– not to picture a surly detective roaming the halls, trailed by his chattering secretary. He tried not to press his companions for details of their encounters with Juno, feigning the casual disinterest one ought to feel for an unpleasant acquaintance. He was quite proud of himself, really, for managing to keep up the façade until one particularly late night found him in the ship’s galley with Jet Siquliak. Food options on the ship were limited, as none of the assembled crew were particularly good chefs. As a result, the meal du jour was frequently some kind of sandwich with whatever one could scrape together from the meager offerings in the pantry.

“You don’t mind me sneaking past you for a midnight snack, do you Jet?” Peter tried to lean casually against the counter nearest to the refrigerator, but missed. He hoped beyond all hope that Jet was polite enough not to mention it.

“There is no need to sneak. This is a communal space.” Jet inclined his head slightly as he spoke, not wanting to turn his laser-intense focus away from his peanut butter & jelly sandwich.

“I suppose you’re right. A communal space for our little community. It’s sweet.” Peter opened the fridge, keeping the other man in his peripheral vision. Not that his face betrayed any reaction, as a rule. Still, old habits die hard.

“Indeed.”

“I’m interested in how the newer additions to the team will adjust to this living situation. They may not want to integrate themselves, you know.”

“That is true. I am confident that it will not have any bearing on the mission’s success.” Jet looked as thoughtful as his general aura of neutrality would allow, and took a bite of his sandwich. Peter closed the door, careful not to betray an ounce of irritation. He slid into the chair across from Siquliak, and took a breath to maintain his composure.

“It might make things… unpleasant. Tell me, you’ve seen this Juno Steel,” He paused, savoring the name involuntarily. “more recently than I. What is he like? Still petulant as ever?”

“He is trustworthy. His attitude is less than positive, but he should have no difficulty adjusting to life on this ship.”

“He didn’t seem particularly melancholy when you saw him last?”

“A man like Juno Steel has much to be melancholy about. However, his anger posed the bigger problem.”

Anger. Peter could deal with anger. He’d seen Juno’s anger before, even been on the receiving end of it. He’d felt plenty of anger of his own, too–– at Mag, at Juno, at himself. So, Juno was angry with him. That was fine. Understandable, even. If not for Peter, he’d never have gotten involved with Miasma in the first place. He’d still have his eye, and his skill as a sharpshooter.

“I see.” Peter tried to keep his tone neutral, but nonetheless Jet stopped chewing mid-bite.

“You are troubled by his involvement.” He said, mouth half-full of peanut butter and cloned strawberry jam.

“One might say I have certain reservations about working with the detective again.” Peter sighed. Jet resumed chewing, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No, thank you.”

“May I offer you some advice?”

“I think I’ll manage the situation on my own.”

“You should not worry about Juno Steel. He is a good man. Troubled, but good. He is on the path to healing. Whatever disagreement you had in the past, reconsider holding it against him.” Jet finished his sandwich, and stood from the table.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Peter attempted a smile, he really did.

“You are still troubled.” Jet placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and for once the thief didn’t flinch away from the contact.

“Is it that obvious?” He dropped his head onto the sticky linoleum tabletop. Someone really ought to clean soon. None of them were particularly good janitors, either.

“Are you sure you do not want to talk about it? I have been told my advice is very useful.”

“I don’t know if I can. Talking around it is difficult enough.”

“He is important to you?” At that, Peter let out a harsh laugh–– a single, rough note that conveyed more pain than mirth.

“I would’ve given him anything. I offered him everything. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”

“Quill. You have many positive qualities that I have expressed appreciation for in the past. The idea that you would not be enough for someone is not feasible. I assure you, the problem was not with you.”

“The old, ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ excuse does little to soothe my hurt feelings, my friend. Though I do appreciate the effort. Your kindness, as always, means the world.”

“It is late. Staying up to ponder this will not solve anything. Get some sleep, and we will speak about this more when you awake.” Jet got up, and left Peter to his own devices.

Their conversation the next day had been similarly frustrating. Jet Siquliak, for all his brooding mystery, was unwavering in his insistence of Ira Quill’s inherent goodness. And, in a way, he was right–– Ira Quill deserved love and happiness. Ira Quill didn’t drag everyone he met down to his level with the force of a black hole. Ira Quill never murdered his father, never woke up in the night screaming for places and people he could never see again. Ira Quill was the kind of man who could save Juno Steel, keep him safe and whole and happy.

Peter Nureyev was a different matter entirely.

So there he lay, in his ridiculously small bed, curled into the fetal position so his feet didn’t dangle off the end. He had already spent hours preparing for the next day’s reunion: his clothes were laid out on the chair across from his bed, planned down to the lingerie. His makeup was sitting dutifully on the vanity table, the perfect shade of lipstick selected and prepared. His shoes had been polished, his hair washed and prepared for styling, and his cologne given pride of place so he wouldn’t forget. As if he ever could.

What do you say to the once-and-maybe-future love of your life, who told you he loved you and then unceremoniously abandoned you in the middle of the night? There was no textbook for this sort of thing, no precedent to go off of. A snappy line would dazzle the detective in the moment, but how cutting should it be? Peter didn’t want to eliminate any chance of reconciliation. He’d forgiven Juno as much as he could, given the lack of apology. He didn’t need groveling, even a renewed expression of interest would suffice. Then the game would be back on, everything would be easy again, and they could pretend the last two years had never happened.

Oh, what he would give to be Rex Glass once more.

What would Rex Glass do, in these circumstances. Be devastatingly charming, of course, but how? If Peter truly wanted to start over, to begin again, he’d need to channel some of that energy.

He sat up. That, that was it. Channel the Peter that met Juno in his apartment: poised, posed, and ready to embark on the next great adventure. He didn’t usually like to recycle lines, but in this case it would lend the situation a certain sense of flair. They’d be coming full circle, in a way. And so, he shifted his plans. He could be that Peter again. Less scarred, more confident. Someone who knew he deserved the love of one Juno Steel, damn the consequences.

\-----

As the Martian dust settled, Peter perfected his pose against the hood of the Ruby 7. Knees up, back arched just so. He watched his brilliant, difficult, wonderful detective sputter with something like fondness. Something like love. He would play coy for as long as he could, he thought, but even the sight of Juno warmed his heart like nothing else. He leaned back on his sweat-slicked palms and delivered the line he’d been practicing in the mirror all morning:

“Hello, Juno. It’s been a while.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i'm back again with more soft, depressed peter! hope you enjoy

The years that had fallen by the wayside felt like nothing compared to the long span of silence stretching out between them. Peter felt… exposed, exceedingly vulnerable in his current position. Not that he gave it away in his demeanor, he was still a professional. Years of training schooled his muscles into stillness and his face into a glib version of composure. And still Juno Steel, covered in scars and sweat and dirt, had tremendous power over him. Who else could make him feel so much like a raw nerve?

Juno cast his eyes down, just as Rita began to screech.

“MISTAH– AGENT– WHOEVER YOU ARE! I KNOW YOU.” She ran up to the Ruby 7, and tackled him flat on his back. It took him all of three seconds (an abysmal reaction time, if he was being honest with himself) to realize she wasn’t attacking him, she was trying to give him a hug. He looped his arms around her, hesitant and awkward. He cringed, inwardly; there he went again, showing too much of his hand. His past, laid bare in the smallest of mannerisms. “And you’re ALIVE! I really wasn’t sure. I mean, on the streams the handsome homme fatale always gets away, but you know what I noticed lately? Life ain’t so much like the streams! Oh BOY but if it were. Then this would be a real dramatic showdown, with sappy music in the background. Oooh! I could try and sing somethin’ for ya! I ain’t too good of a singer but there’s no harm in tryin’!”

Just as she takes in a deep breath, Peter regains some of his composure.

“Thank you Miss Rita, but that won’t be necessary. No dramatic showdowns to be had here, I’m afraid.” He smiled, showing more of his teeth than he meant to and steadfastly not looking at Juno.

“Well, that’s probably better anyway, seein’ as we’re all gonna be workin’ together! Real close quarters too. I hope you like the smell of Salmon-Flavored Dusty Crunchies! I brought enough to share. Normally I’d keep ‘em all to myself, on account of they’re my very favorite snack, but then I remembered my Ma always said if you wanna make new friends, you gotta share your snacks sometimes. Even if you really reeeeeally don’t want to, because you aren’t totally clear on just where it is you’re going and if they’ll even HAVE Salmon-Flavored Dusty Crunchies in outer space and––“

“Do not worry, Rita. Your Salmon-Flavored Dusty Crunchies will be safe aboard this ship. I will defend them to my utmost ability.” Jet intoned, serious as ever, and Peter barely suppressed a grin at his crisp pronunciation. A glance at Juno confirmed he was fighting the very same urge.

Good. This was a good sign. They could laugh together, and why not? They’d done it before. This version of Peter Nureyev knew nothing about impossible trains or Martian suicide missions or the cool press of sheets against his hand when he had reached across the hotel bed to find––

No. That train of thought was going nowhere good. This Peter, Rex Glass as Peter Nureyev as Ira Quill, would never get caught up in such so cheerless a memory. He was all laughter and sharp teeth and swinging in on a beam of starlight. The homme fatale always gets away. Not left behind. It implies a certain degree of choice, of power, of control. This version of Peter had all of that and more.

“Quill. QUILL.” Vespa’s annoyed rasp cut through the murky water of his thoughts.

“Apologies, I was lost in thought. Did you need something, Vespa dear?” He smiled as sweetly as he could, ignoring the dull and steady ache in his chest.

“I need you to get off the damn car so I can park her back where she belongs.”

“Of course.” He slid off the green hood, aiming for seductive and landing somewhere in the neighborhood of upright. All things considered, not his biggest failure in memory. Vespa muttered her thanks, and backed the car back into the port, leaving the rest of the crew to ruminate in awkward silence.

“Well. All things considered, I think it’s high time to get back to our respective bunks. It seems like some of us have a lot of catching up to do.” Buddy said, and if she were any less dignified Peter swore she’d be waggling her eyebrows like the Vaudevillian minx she was. “Rita, was it? Let Jet show you to your room, he knows the way. They’re nothing to write home about, and they all look the same, but they’ll do just fine for sleeping.”

“Yes. I have much I’d like to discuss with you.” Jet extended a leather-clad arm like the true gentleman he was, and Rita giggled.

“I’m sure you do, Mista Jet! I have PLENTY of questions for you, too! Like, for starters––“ Her shrill-but-loveable voice faded slowly as they wandered to her quarters.

“Now, Quill. I’m sure you know where Juno’s room is. Would you be so kind as to show him the way? Especially since it’s so near to your own.” Buddy smiled, and batted her eyelashes as if she didn’t know exactly what she was doing. He hadn’t told her anything, and he trusted Jet not to tell his secrets, but somehow she always seemed to be one step ahead of him.

“But of course. Detective Steel?” Peter turned to Juno, and offered his arm like Jet before him. Juno gave him a long, measured look and shook his head.

“No thanks, Quill. I think I can walk just fine.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, and started walking.

“Ah, Detective? You’re going the wrong way.” Peter’s heart sank as he studied the man before him. So much for a fresh start.

“Right. I knew that. Let’s just… Let’s just go. I gotta lie down.” Juno spun on his heels, and strode in the opposite direction without checking to see if Peter had followed. Buddy shot him a sympathetic look, and went off in search of Vespa. If these two were going to keep it up like this, she would need much more Martian Wine than she’d originally planned.

 

* * *

 

 

“Would you prefer to make small talk, or maintain the awkward silence?” Peter couldn’t stop himself from at least trying to break the ice that had settled in the distance between them.

“I don’t know, what do Quill and I even have to talk about?” Juno said, not bothering to make eye-contact with the man in question as they wandered through the halls. They’d taken a wrong turn several meters back, but Peter wasn’t going to bring it up until he felt some kind of resolution, or at least guidelines for a way forward.

“Oh, quite a lot! You see, Ira Quill may be a dashing criminal mastermind, but he’s so much more than that. For example, did you know that he too was a detective, until he realized that the only way to accomplish anything worthwhile was to play by his own rules and devil-may-care attitude?”

“You don’t say.”

“But I do! Ira Quill is quite the interesting fellow. I think you’d like him if you got to know him.” At that, Juno stopped in his tracks.

“Funny, Ira Quill isn’t who I was hoping to talk to.” Juno’s expression was unreadable, his eye shining in the dimly lit hallway.

“And who were you hoping to talk to, exactly?” Peter clipped his words carefully, letting more Rex Glass seep into his voice. If he put on the mask, maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Someone I used to know. A former teenage revolutionary, hell-bent on trying to fix things that couldn’t be fixed.” He was playing some kind game now, and if Peter could only figure out what then they’d at least have a chance at being on the same page.

“He sounds like a fool.” Peter said, quieter than he’d intended. This was not how this was supposed to go. How could he expect to win Juno back by being this soft, sensitive hermit crab without a shell? Juno hadn’t fallen for that Peter Nureyev. He’d fallen for grace, and style, and a little razzle-dazzle. Peter braced himself for the inevitable let-down.

“Yeah, he might’ve been. But then again, so was I.” Juno gave him a small smile, and resumed walking. It was a full minute before Peter could catch up with him.

Was? Was. As in, no longer is. The state of being formerly known as the value of x. Juno had moved on, and Peter was still, always, always the fool. Why on Earth, Mars, and all the planets in the galaxy had he expected anything different? This is exactly what he deserved. Juno had barely cast a glance in his direction since they’d been reunited. Who did he think he was to get some stream-worthy confession of undying love and devotion? He felt sick to his stomach; but worse than that, he just felt ashamed. Ashamed that he ever thought he could win back the hard of the fickle lady who had left him two years ago. If he had ever meant something to Juno Steel, surely that worth and meaning had dwindled down to nothing by now.

“Speaking of foolishness, Detective, you’re going in the wrong direction.” Peter said, and the mask slipped back into place. He could do this. He could be witty and cavalier and protect himself from the torrent of emotion Juno Steel brought out in him. Maybe if he repeated that to himself enough, he’d start to believe it.

“What?” Juno said, and Peter let himself smile. There was that well-worn familiarity.

It didn’t take long to re-trace their steps, but the inevitable awkwardness of showing the Detective to a room so close to his own (and yet so undeniably separate) was enough to make Peter wish they had further to go.

“Well, Detective. I hope these lodgings are up to your standards. I daresay it will be nicer than your apartment, at the very least. Goodbye!” He pressed the key fob into Juno’s hand, and strode across the hall to his own door without waiting for a reply.

And there he was again, alone. Leaving like that would be better in the long run, he reasoned. It would maintain that air of mystery Juno had seemed to like so much. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave him an exit to grapple with the information he’d learned.  
On the one hand, it could have been a slip. The differences between “was” and “is” mainly pertain to their execution. The sound is the same, and could be easily swapped. Peter hoped against his every instinct that this was the case. But he had to consider the idea that Juno meant what he said to the word.

He didn’t blame him. The Detective hadn’t signed up for the baggage that accompanied Peter Nureyev. He closed his eyes, remembering Juno’s reaction to the burden of his name at the Oasis Casino & Resort. How he’d never asked for it, never wanted it. He could hardly blame him, after all the weight of that name is so heavy Peter himself refused to carry it. Even before the business with Miasma, Juno had plainly expressed his distaste.

But then, what of the promises of a bright, exciting future? Were those just byproducts of spent adrenaline and the rush of getting out of an impossible situation alive? Peter could just picture it: himself, sleeping sound in the knowledge that the man he loved returned the feeling even if he couldn’t say it in so many words. Juno, wide awake and contemplating how one could build a life on a man with no home, no family, and no name. On top of it all, Peter still had no way of knowing what memory Juno had accessed in the tomb. Maybe whatever it was had been enough to scare him off.

Before he could spiral any further into this line of thinking, his burner comms beeped. Buddy, trying to rally the troops and dive into their big adventure. Meeting in the starboard observation deck in twenty minutes. He had to piece himself back together, if for no other reason than to shield his wounded pride. As he gathered his wits, Ira Quill’s personality underwent several revisions.

Not the least of which being the development of a love for a certain salmon-flavored snack food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i plan on writing this for as long as i have the energy/motivation to do so, and comments have a lot to do w/ that. let me know what you liked/didnt like/wanna fight about! 
> 
> i would also def accept prompts if there's something you particularly want to see.
> 
> im sasqwitch on tumblr & twitter, come find me there!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has been commenting and leaving kudos! It means a lot, and definitely helps my motivation to write! 
> 
> We get a little of Juno's POV in this one, hopefully I did him justice.

On the opposite side of the hallway, Juno was having a similar kind of meltdown.

 He knew Peter Nureyev. Really knew him. Or he thought he did. He’d expected to be... he didn’t know, exactly. Dazzled, maybe? And he was at first, sure. That little display on the hood of the Ruby 7 was a nice touch. But just then, in the hall, there had been a flash of something in Nureyev’s eyes that was unsettling. Something cold and careful that he’d only seen once before, miles underground with no hope of escape.

 Fear.

 Nureyev was afraid of him.

 Sure, he was good at pretending otherwise, but Juno had gotten better at reading him in the short time they’d spent together in the tomb. It was the same look that’d been in his eyes in the red, red room with Mag, all the way back in New Kinshasa.

 He’d hurt Nureyev, deeply. He knew that. Hell, he felt it tugging at his gut every day. Some kinds of guilt are so pervasive even the cleansing burn of whiskey can’t clear them out. But he’d hoped, like an idiot, that Nureyev would be okay. He’d get over it, move on, and they could chase the stars together.

 Now? He didn’t know.

 For the first time since Ramses– well, since everything happened with New Town– he felt really, truly alone.

 Rita was off God-knows-where with Jet, Buddy had Vespa, and Juno? All he had was the uneasy feeling that had settled somewhere in his chest when Nureyev dodged his comment about the fools they’d both been, once upon a time.

 To make an incredibly long story short, he felt like shit.

 He surveyed the sparsely decorated room before him. No art on the walls, just blank white space. His to decorate, if he wanted. If he felt like staying. Not that he’d left himself any other choice. Everything that had tied him to the festering abyss that was Hyperion City had been severed. Mick was happy in a new job, satisfied with promises of interstellar postcards and visits every now and again. Sasha was still unreachable, but that wasn’t anything new. What he needed of Ben, he carried inside himself now; for once he was entirely untethered from the thing he’d let define him for his life up until this point.

 He understood how Peter Nureyev must’ve felt.

 He wasn’t dealing with Peter Nureyev anymore, though. He’d ruined that years ago, in a desperate attempt to stop himself from hurting people he... well. Felt a lot about. He was dealing with Ira Quill, someone he didn’t know at all.

 He eased himself onto the neatly-made bed with its pristine white sheets. His quarters were small enough that he didn’t need to explore too much: a bed, a vanity table with a dingy mirror, and an attached bathroom complete with toilet and shower. Nothing fancy. He’d miss having a bathtub, but he’d cope somehow. He never really used it for baths anyways, the bathtub was strictly for sitting in the shower and contemplating exactly what a goddamn mess he’d made of his life.

 Staring at the ceiling, he almost missed the quiet beep of his comms. Buddy. Arranging a meeting in twenty minutes. Not enough time for the intricate pity party he’d wanted to throw from himself, but hey. When has the universe ever cut him a break?

 No sooner had he registered the message, a knock sounded at his door. His stomach dropped. If it was Nureyev...

 He took a deep breath, swung himself upright and off the bed, and went to answer the door. A barrage of sound greeted him.

 “BOSS. You won’t believe how big this ship is! I mean, it’s really somethin’. If this were a stream, I’d say ‘nah, too unrealistic.’ But it ain’t! It’s real, actual factual life! Can you believe it?” Rita said, crowding into his room without so much as a hello. He sighed, somehow relieved and disappointed at the same time.

 “I’ll have to take your word for it, Rita. And you know you don’t have to call me ‘boss’ anymore. You heard the Big Guy, I’m technically the sidekick now.” If he hadn’t been a grown man with some semblance of dignity left, Juno would’ve flopped on the bed. As it was, he sat down with as much grace as he could muster.

 “Oh, I know Mistah Steel. But it just don’t feel right! And if you wanna get real technical about it, you were kinda always the sidekick. No offense, but the Adventures of Rita were always more excitin’ than Juno Steel: Private Eye.” She replied, patting him on the shoulder.

 “I guess you’re right.” He smiled, despite himself. “Did the Big... did _Jet_ tell you anything interesting? Anything I should know about?”

 “Oh, not really. Just a tour of the ship, nothin’ fancy. But what I wanna know is, what did Mistah Glass have to say for himself? You two seemed to have a thing goin’ on, and as my official sidekick I gotta know everything!” Rita dropped into the space next to him, and leaned in.

 “You know that isn’t his name.” Juno muttered, not wanting to give up anything more than he had to.

 “Well, it is to me! At least until he gives me somethin’ new to call him. Gee, I bet it’s fun comin’ up with new names at the drop of a hat. Although... I can’t picture myself as anything but RITA! Master hacker! And no offense boss, but I think you’d seem real silly goin’ by any other name than Juno Steel.”

 “Oh yeah? What about Dahlia Rose?”

 “Nah, too...flowery.” Any nuance in the delivery was ruined by Rita’s elbows jamming repeatedly into his ribs. “HA! Get it? ‘Cause dahlias and roses are both flowers! Anyway, stop tryin’ to distract me. You’ve got dirt on Mistah Glass, so SPILL.”

“There’s nothing to spill. We used to mean something to each other, now I don’t know anymore. That’s all.”

 “That’s ALL? That’s all, he says, as if that ain’t nothin’ at all! Let me tell you something, Mistah Steel. That ain’t all. Trust your Rita, there’s still somethin’ there! I’m sure you can sort out whatever happened, or else he wouldn’t’ve looked at you that way. Or posed on that car. That was some entrance, huh? Too bad you were too busy coughing to really appreciate it. Don’t worry though, I appreciated it plenty for you. Not that I want a piece of Mistah Glass! Too much drama for little ole me. Plus he really seemed to only have eyes for you.”

 “I appreciate what you’re trying to say, I really do, but I messed things up. Bad. He won’t want anything to do with me.” Juno rolled to face away from the intensity of her gaze.

 “Don’t be so hard on yourself! I’m sure that ain’t true. I can talk to him, if you want! Put my investigative skills to good use. I’m a real good detective, Boss. You’ve seen my work, you oughta know!” At that, Rita stood. Juno sat up so fast his head swam.

 “NO, Rita. Leave this one be.”

 “You’re saying No Rita but all I can hear is ‘oh PLEASE Rita! I’m so sad and lonely, I could really use your help on this one.’”

 “That’s not at all what I’m saying.”

 “And anyway, Boss, we gotta go to this meeting. So you’re gonna see him whether you like it or not. Now, you’ve got Detective Rita in your corner! I’ll get this all sorted out, don’t you worry!” She cried, triumphant. He dropped his head into his hands, and let out the deepest sigh his lungs could take.

 What had he gotten himself into?

 

* * *

 

 

“So. Welcome aboard, Juno and Rita.” Buddy began, in front of their little crew.

 They’d assembled on the starboard observation deck, per her instructions. The view was glorious, of course, but unfortunately, there wasn’t any better place to sit than the floor. Jet had made a show of dragging some empty crates for the ladies to sit on, but no one but Rita had taken him up on the offer. Peter didn’t mind the discomfort of standing if it meant he could be that much more invisible to Juno a few meters in front of him.

 “I don’t know how much Jet told you on your journey here, but we’re undertaking something big. Something we have to work up to, certainly. We need to build the connections necessary to pull off the larger plan, and until that time we’ll be pulling smaller missions. Call it ‘strength training’, if it offends your delicate ego, Steel.” Buddy said, pointing her last few sentences at the Detective with his mouth open. His jaw snapped shut, and if Peter didn’t know any better he’d say Juno was blushing at being called out.

 “We’re on our way to perform a routine rescue operation. Some Martian socialite got mixed up in shady business on Io, and we could really use a favor from someone of her wealth and stature. You’ll be given more details as it becomes relevant. Any questions?”

 “Yeah, a few. I thought one of my conditions was knowing exactly what I was getting into.” Juno said.

 “That is not a question.” Jet, ever helpful, pointed out. “It is a statement. Not a particularly helpful one.”

 “He’s right. You said no more secrets? Fine. This isn’t a secret. It’s just not relevant yet. We have two weeks until we reach our destination, at which point you’ll be briefed in full.” Buddy smiled, relishing that particular loophole.

 “So what the hell am I supposed to do until then?” Juno growled.

 “You’ll find some way to amuse yourself, I’m sure. In the meantime: Vespa, darling?” Buddy stepped aside to give her partner the floor.

 “There’s a chore wheel in the galley. I added your names to the roster.” Vespa deadpanned.

 “Thank you dear. Any other comments from the crew?” Buddy surveyed the group, staunchly ignoring Juno’s sputtering. “Wonderful. You’re all dismissed. Feel free to explore, or do whatever it is you do in your free time.”

 Peter clapped politely, though no one else joined him. Buddy was a good leader, after all, and deserved some appreciation. Besides, it fit Ira Quill’s personality to have that level of respect. Ira Quill, cunning though he might be, always showed proper deference to authority figures that deserved it. And speaking of authority––

 “Miss Rita! I do believe we have much to catch up on.” At the sound of his voice, Rita whirled around from where she’d been quietly conferring with Juno. Juno, for his part, shot him a wary look.

 “I do believe you’re right Mistah...” She looked at him, expectant.

 “Oh, you can call me Ira. Ira Quill, if you’re feeling formal.” He extended a long-fingered hand, already expecting the friendly sweat of her own.

 “Okay, Irrrrraaaaaa.” She giggled, stretching out his name like a schoolgirl. He’d forgotten how much fun he’d had with her, so long ago.

“Would you care to accompany me to the kitchen? We have a lovely selection of snacks that I think you’ll find very appealing.” He let go of her hand, and extended his arm as Jet had before.

 “I’m going to go lay down.” Juno announced, to no one in particular. Peter noticed, of course. He noticed everything about Juno, from the stiffness in his posture to the furtive glances he sent in their direction as he walked out. But this was not the game, so he pretended to pay no mind.

 As soon as they got out of earshot of the rest of the crew, though, Rita dropped all pretense.

 “Alright, Ira or whatever-your-real-name-is. I ain’t playin’ around. You’re very charming and all, and I absolutely wanna take you up on your offer of lovely snacks, but I need to know what your intentions are for Mistah Steel. I know somethin’s going on with you two, and he’s not saying anything but that don’t mean it’s not important. And as his best friend, I gotta know!” She let go of his arm, and folded her own across her chest. 

 “Miss Rita, I mean Juno no harm. Yes, once we had something wonderful, but he made his feelings on the matter quite clear. I seek a professional relationship, nothing more.” Peter said, maintaining eye contact.

 “And what if the Boss wants more?”

 “Did... Is that something he’s expressed interest in?” He tried not to let the spark of hope he felt reach his face, but judging by the look on hers, he failed.

 “I can neither confirm nor deny Mistah Steel’s feelings on the matter.” She said, all business. Then, dropping her voice to what she clearly thought was a conspiratorial whisper: “But between you, me, and the wallpaper? Mistah Steel could use a bit of romancin’. I wouldn’t give up hope just yet.”

 Peter floated on that sentence all the way to the galley. Not even the disturbingly wet crunch of Rita enjoying her snacks could shake his concentration. After all, he had plans to make. And a petulant Detective to seduce.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sasqwitch on [ tumblr ](https://sasqwitch.tumblr.com) and [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/sasqwitch). feel free to come yell at me, or send prompts, or really whatever strikes your fancy.
> 
> I thrive on comments, so whatever you have to say i'd love to hear! 
> 
> Finally, if you're at all interested in listening to my Jupeter playlist, you can find it [ here ](https://open.spotify.com/user/alikait/playlist/7rYZQxNzHr5eQ3dF2W1sSn?si=1CRBBp3YSJGgvNMuhYW9UQ)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this has taken so long to update friends, it's been a rough time on my end. i'm definitely not done with this story though, so enjoy!

Every good plan begins with a clear sight of its end goal, but in this case Peter wasn't sure what he hoped to get out of this little game. Juno's love and affection, obviously, but for a night?

  _Inside his head, the hollow parody of his own voice rings out– "Life can wait one night... Come here."_

Or for longer?

  _"...on the edge of a brave new future, Juno. It's exciting, isn't it?"_

Juno hadn't wanted that future then, not really. And clearly he had changed in no small measure since their last meeting but there are only so many ways for someone to grow.

 Call Peter Nureyev a fool if you like, but he wasn't feeling terribly keen on making the same mistake twice in a row. No, this would have to be something new. Newer than new and braver than brave, with no mention of a future in sight– only the blinding beauty of the present.

 He sat up in his bed, unsure exactly how long he'd been laying there scheming.

 There was only one person he knew who could advise him on how to live in the present without constantly re-opening the scarred over wounds the past leaves behind. One person who could look at Juno Steel's impressive collection of scars and scoff. And he was fortunate enough to have her within arm’s reach.

 Well, not quite arm's reach, but close enough that he could be at her door in less time than it took for him to brew the steaming mugs of peppermint tea he brought as a peace offering.

 "You'd better have a damn good reason to knock on my door at this hour, Quill." Vespa muttered, closing the door gingerly behind her and running a hand through mussed green hair. "If Buddy loses a minute of beauty sleep I'm going to make sure you're paying for it."

 "Apologies, Vespa. You know I wouldn't bother you unless absolutely necessary." Peter smiled, though he could feel exhaustion tugging at the corners of his eyes. Another pesky sign of the steady tick of time, a physical reminder of his age that he'd need to have wiped away as soon as possible.

 "Yeah, I know. C'mon. Library." She sighed, taking the mug from his hands and walking away.

 Large as the ship might've been, a hauler like that wasn't designed for much more than function. As such, her crew had to carve out what little space they could for human dignity. Therefore, the Library wasn't so much a library as it was a largish storage closet with loose books and a couple of overstuffed chairs crammed inside. The books were a delightful mix of harlequin novels and operations manuals, and one particularly rare copy of a short story collection authored by none other than Peter himself– albeit under a different name. He allowed himself that sentiment, at least. And besides, he'd worked harder on that book than that heist.

 "Alright Quill, what's so important that you felt the need to pull me away from my very warm bed and my very warm wife?" Vespa settled into the armchair opposite him, and took a long sip from her tea. With the look in her eye, and the slouch in her posture, she bore a striking resemblance to a certain detective. Perfect.

 "I'm afraid I haven't quite been honest with you all about my ability to operate on this mission. Or, indeed, on this ship. I find myself quite at a loss." He could never gauge how much she liked him but in this case, he needed her brutal honesty.

 "I may have radiation poisoning, but I'm not blind and I'm not stupid. I saw how you've been looking at Steel. We all saw. And we all know you're more invested in him than you wanna be. Get to the point."

 Well. No point in beating around the bush then; although he did allow himself a moment to revel in the fact that he was right and Vespa was just the person to come to.

 "Detective Steel and I have... well, a rather fraught past. We worked spectacularly well together, and under extreme duress. When our survival stopped being in question, I–" Peter stopped, feeling heat in the back of his throat. He was **not** about to cry in front of one of his childhood heroes like some simpering simpleton. Vespa just watched him, letting him collect his thoughts. "Simply put, I asked too much of him. I thought our shared experience was enough to build a life on, but I was wrong. He didn't say it in so many words, but made his feelings quite clear."

 "And you decided you could handle being trapped in a confined space with him? Quill, I never took you for an idiot." She finished for him, shaking her head.

 "What can I say? Juno Steel has rather a habit of making me a fool." Peter took a gulp of his rapidly-cooling tea, hoping it would mask the cloud of emotion in his voice.

 "So, what do you want me to say? I'm not... Bud is the romantic one. She knows all about grand gestures and what have you." Vespa waved her hand, affection clear in her eyes despite her tone. "I'm just the lady along for the ride."

 "You don't give yourself nearly enough credit, Vespa my dear. Besides, yours is precisely the perspective I'm looking for. From what I understand you had your own fair share of reservations to overcome before you and Buddy... well, before you could have a fresh start."

 "You wanna know how to get Steel over whatever bullshit's in his head, so you can get to the good part." Vespa narrowed her eyes, and whatever friendly demeanor she'd possessed before vanished.  

 Peter nodded, though he knew it was the wrong answer. Put that way, his dreams and desires seemed horribly selfish. He'd done it again, gotten caught up in the pretty narrative he made for himself without pausing to think of how another person would feel about it.

 "Look, Quill. I respect you, so I'm gonna tell it to you straight: you can't trick someone into falling back in love with you. It takes time. Work. A helluva lot of understanding. And even then, there are no guarantees. You just have to try, and be okay with the fact that maybe just because you want something really, really badly doesn't mean it's gonna pan out for you. From what I know about the lady, Steel has never pretended to be anything besides damaged goods. If you wanna build a life with him, you've gotta make room for all his emotional baggage. And he's gotta be willing to share some of the load with you. It's a two way street and it's hard as hell and only sometimes worth it. Especially since you've got so much history. But it does no good to either of you to get caught up in the past. When Bud and I decided to try and make this thing work again, we did it knowing that we'd changed a lot, and we'd have to get to know each other all over again. You can't start over at square one, but you can't just expect to pick up where you left off either. It's not fair to him, and it's not fair to you."  Vespa set down her tea, now cold.

 "How do I know if it's worth it?" Peter meant to ask, but his voice came out a whisper.

 Vespa sighed, and reached out a scarred hand to squeeze his shoulder.

 "It might not be. But it seems like both of you need some kind of closure, and personally? I won't forgive you if you made me say all that mushy shit for nothing."

 "Thank you, Vespa. You've given me... much to think about." Peter smiled weakly, placing his hand over her own.

 "Don't stay up too late, Ira. And take care of yourself." She stood, and shuffled back in the direction of her sleeping wife, and her hard-won happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear they'll actually have a conversation at some point. I just have a lot of feelings about this dynamic
> 
> i really, really appreciate all the kind words and kudos y'all have been leaving me, I feel bad because I wanna respond to every single one but I don't want to artificially inflate my comment count. but know that i read every one of them and when this is done i'm gonna print them all out and hang them on my wall.
> 
> thanks for bearing with me, and for reading. it means so much <3 
> 
> as always, i'm @sasqwitch on twitter and tumblr, feel free to come chat anytime! i'm hoping to be able to get a bunch of writing done in the next month or so, finish this fic, and post some new stuff


	5. Chapter 5

Juno paced back and forth, circling his quarters and feeling a lot like a lady from a story Benten had told him once. Except the walls in this room weren't yellow, and he was the one imprisoning himself. His mind, though, ran in faster circles than his feet could make as he tried to figure out what to do about Peter Nureyev.

It had been a week since he'd boarded the ship, and he'd spent most of them asleep. At first, he told himself that sleeping would help the nausea from the constant motion of the ship but at this point he couldn't lie to himself anymore. He only left his room for food, and the rare occasion of Rita looking up from her streams and her fancy new friends to remember he existed.

He hadn't seen Nureyev in days.

Well, sure, he'd _seen_ him. The back of his head leaving a room, or the last remnants of his shadow trailing away from wherever Juno had been. Because their rooms were so close together he could hear every time Nureyev left his room, and count the minutes until he returned. Always alone. Whoever Ira Quill was supposed to be, he kept to himself most days. Which meant that in all likelihood, Nureyev was going just as stir crazy in his room across the hall. Something about that stuck in what was left of Juno's craw.

He couldn't figure out what the game was. He'd seen flashes of Rex Glass in Quill, and even a brief moment of Duke Rose when he walked in on Nureyev and Buddy making coffee in the kitchen. He'd seen Nureyev himself, too, in the hallway. He didn't want to think too hard on that, on how badly he'd handled it. He'd already spent hours picking apart every word and motion until all signs pointed to a well-worn banner saying "YOU FUCKED IT UP AGAIN, STEEL" in big, block letters.

Even Rita seemed to have the sense to leave well enough alone, or else she was so caught up in the intrigue she found herself in to care about the misery of a former P. One-Eye (Juno was still proud of that pun, even though he never got to use it again). A soft voice in the back of his head, one he'd been trying so hard to nurture for the past year or so tried to remind him, _She wouldn't do that to you. She's just giving you space._

Trouble was, the longer Juno spent alone, the less believable that voice became.

So, he found himself alone at the kitchen table, unable to stand the smell of himself in his own quarters and looking for any form of alcohol he could find to rinse out his mind and at least get a few hours of blissful blankness. Buddy's tastes leaned more toward wine, so he grit his –steadily purpling– teeth and drank straight from the bottle.

"You know, dear, that bottle wasn't one of the cheap ones." The woman herself materialized seemingly out of thin air, although it was entirely possible that he'd been too caught up in his own shitty pity party to hear her coming.

"Sorry. I'll... replace it. Or something." Juno frowned. Wine drunk wasn't something he felt often, and usually it took much more than the half a bottle he'd consumed. "This's... somethin. Some strong stuff. Alessandra Strong stuff." He smiled to himself, eyes half-lidded.

"It's distilled especially for those of us who prefer the finer things, but still need to feel nothing every now and again. May I join you?" She pulled a glass from a nearby shelf, not waiting for him to answer. "I've been worried, darling. We all have."

Juno picked his head up from where he'd been resting it in his hand.

"Who-- We who? Who we?" He said, every syllable a struggle. He tried to make a mental note to check the label of this wine for future reference, but it fluttered down and down and away from his consciousness in the fogginess of his brain.

"All of us, I've just said. Myself, of course, but Rita, Jet, and Vespa too. Quill seems especially concerned." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, the picture of nonchalance. "He says it's been quite a while since you left your room, and the first thing you decide to do with your freedom is get spectacularly drunk. I will only ask you this once, so I'd appreciate your honesty: are you alright?"

"If _Quilll,_ " Juno trills, drawing out the 'l' sound. "isso goddamn worried about me, why doesn't he jus' knock on my door?"

"For heaven's sake, Juno. Is that what this is about? You feeling neglected?"

"I'm jussayin. A lady... gets confused." If he were inside his body instead of floating somewhere in the air ducts, he might be embarrassed at how whiny he sounds.

"Mistah Steel? You in here?" Rita's voice echoed through the tiny kitchen, piercing through the haze that had been formulating around Juno's brain.

"He's in here, all right. We're just in the middle of throwing him a pity party. Would you like a drink?" Buddy said, making room for the barrage of sound that was Juno's best friend. He was glad to see her, fuzzy kitten pajamas and all.

"Oh boy, Mistah Steel. Are you feelin' okay?" She sat in the chair next to him, and pat him on the back sympathetically. "You look worse than that time I found you layin' down under your desk. Remember, when Cecil Kanagawa brought you that cake to make up and be friends again but he accidentally drugged you instead? Come to think of it, I ain't so sure that was an accident. He was laughin' an awful lot for someone who didn't mean to make you so sick when I called to let him know. It's a good thing we won't have to see him for a good while then, huh?"

"Rita, darling, as much as I love the dulcet tones of your voice I think you may be giving him a headache." Buddy drifted gracefully back into her chair, filling the cup she'd procured for Rita. "Be careful with this, dear. It's stronger stuff than you think, and we can only afford one case of alcohol poisoning tonight."

Rita's eyes got wide.

"YOU–" She started then cast a guilty look at Juno, who had lowered his head back onto the table and groaned. "Sorry boss. I'll be quieter. I just can't believe you got poisoned again! Why does this keep happening to you?"

"The wine isn't poisonous, but the detective's attitude is." Buddy said, taking a long sip from her own glass. "He's upset that Quill is ignoring him."

"Am not." Juno muttered. He wasn't sure if anyone besides the table could hear him, but he felt his point had been made.

"Oooooh. Boy troubles. Never good for the heart, or the liver." Rita nodded knowingly, and took a sip. "HOLY MOLY! I thought you said this wasn't poison!"

"It... it isn't poisoned. Do you think I'd be drinking it if it were?" Buddy asked.

Before Rita could collect herself enough to formulate an answer, the door slid open and Jet Siquliak charged in, brown jacket exchanged for a brown robe and hair slightly mussed from sleep.

"I heard yelling. Is everyone alright? Juno is sliding out of his chair." Jet barked, startled by the noise of the scene before him. As if on cue, Juno hit the floor with a thud and a groan.

"I've got him, I've got him. Everything's fine here, the boss just had a lot too much to drink. We're keepin' him company so he doesn't get sad." Rita dragged Juno back into her own chair with her, pulling him half on her lap despite his–admittedly weak– protest. "Now hush, and lay your sweet little head on your Rita's shoulder. I'll make sure you don't fall again, Mistah Steel. I've got you."

As much as he hated to admit it, Juno didn't mind the position Rita'd forced him into. Her hair smelled nice, and she'd always been a helluva cuddler. He leaned into her, closing his eyes and just feeling the vibrations of her side of the conversation against his skin in the liminal space between awake and passed out. He couldn't tell exactly what they were talking about, only that Jet had decided to stay for the discussion. At some point, he opened his eyes again to register that Vespa had joined them, and she was saying something to Buddy that made her laugh. Buddy had a nice laugh, he thought, very fitting. He felt warm, and maybe it was the alcohol talking but it was the closest he'd been to happy in... too long.  Way too long. The only thing missing––

Well.

He turned his head back into Rita's shoulder and tried very hard not to think about the one member of their company that hadn't joined the festivities, or how their little reunion was going exactly the opposite of how he'd expected. Instead, he'd found himself braced for an impact that never really came. It wasn't until Rita started fussing that he realized he'd started to cry.

"Oh, Mistah Steel. It's alright. You're alright. Whatever's got you so upset, you just cry it out and we'll fix it in the morning. Here ya go. Here, here." She cooed, gently guiding his head upright and pushing a glass of cold water into his hands. "There you go. That's right. Drink up."

Through blurry, salt-stung eyes he watched a silent exchange between his four companions, and felt Jet lift him off Rita's lap.

"You're gonna have a sleepover with me tonight boss. Ain't that nice? If you're extra good and don't throw up any, I'll paint your nails. I'll even let you use one of those fancy face masks Franny gave me as a goin' away present!"

Rita chattered at him all the way down the long hallway that lead to her quarters. He couldn't register exactly what she was saying, but the familiarity of her tone was comforting enough. Somewhere in his head, he was still present enough to note how far her room was from his own, which made him curl slightly tighter into himself (and consequently Jet's terrycloth-covered chest).

"If you feel you are going to vomit, you must warn me." Jet rumbled, but there was no bite to his words.

The next thing he knew, Juno was being gently deposited into Rita's bed. He wasn't sure how she'd managed to fill her room with soft, fluffy things already when his was still so bare, but he'd long ago given up trying to explain Rita's magic to himself.

"Budge over, Mistah Steel. We gotta snuggle, and you gotta tell ole Rita what's wrong."

She rolled him over to the edge of the bed, positioning him on his side with his arm under his head so he wouldn't choke on his own sick. His stomach twisted with shame. This wasn't her first rodeo with him, and knowing the colossal fuck-up that called itself Juno Steel it probably wouldn't be her last either. As she slid into the bed next to him, gently petting his hair, he let the tears spill over again.

"That's right, get it all out. You just let it all out of there, and in the mornin' I'll make you the Rita Special for breakfast! See, you've got plenty to look forward to, boss. It's all gonna be right as rain, you'll see."

 

           

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i sure am sad! bonus points if you can guess what vespa and buddy were talking about. certainly not ridiculous master thieves, that's for sure. too bad juno couldn't hear them...
> 
> your comments & kudos fuel me! i think this particular story is winding down but i have a few waiting in the wings that i'm really jazzed about.
> 
> sorry if the formatting is weird, i still don't know how to work ao3 and at this point i'm too afraid to ask 
> 
> as always, i'm at sasqwitch on just about everything (also i just joined the discord & i'm excited and also scared, so say hi if you feel like it!)


	6. Chapter 6

"The Rita Special," as it turned out, happened to be a mix of whatever she could find in the cabinets shoved into a waffle maker. How she managed to procure a waffle maker, no one could say, but nevertheless she churned out waffles of all shapes, sizes, and denominations until Juno felt like he could muster the willpower involved in getting out of bed. All things being equal, it wasn't the worst hangover he'd ever had.

Small mercies.

He stumbled into the kitchen to find Rita chattering away to Nureyev–Quill–whoever he was over a comically overlarge stack of waffles.

"Oh, good mornin' Boss! Welcome to the party. I made ya some coffee, and yes, before you ask I put plenty of milk and sugar in it, just like you like." Rita smiled, cheerful. If she was upset at Nureyev's presence, she didn't show it, although she did cut her eyes over to him as soon as Juno entered the room.

"Thanks, Rita. And uh, sorry. About last night, I mean." He mumbled.

"Last night?" Nureyev raised an eyebrow. He looked as tired and wrung out as Juno felt, which was saying something.

"Don't you worry about it Mistah Steel. You know how much I love our sleepovers, even though you fell asleep before we could really get to the fun parts. But that's the bright side of livin' in a ship all together like this! We can have sleepovers whenever we want and paint our nails and gossip and laugh like it's summer camp. I ain't ever been to summer camp but growin' up I watched a lot of Ada's Sleepaway Adventures so I'm pretty sure I get the main idea. Just... well, if one of us murders someone else I got a plan way better than Ada's, that's for sure. I'd never get caught if I wanted to kill someone. Hypothetically, of course." Rita finished, looking directly at Nureyev for a second time.

Rita was very good at a lot of things, more than Juno ever gave her credit for, but subtlety wasn't one of them.

"You cut quite the intimidating figure, Ms. Rita." Nureyev smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes, and studied his own cup of coffee as if it contained the secrets to the universe.

This, more than the shift in his behavior, scared Juno. It wasn't like he hadn't seen the many sides of Peter Nureyev when they'd worked together, but this was something else entirely; he'd never seen the thief so withdrawn, even on the worst days in the tomb. But then, they'd had each other– soft touches and calming words, trying to find the strength in the other that they couldn't summon in themselves. The kind of thing Juno didn't like reflecting on, because it just made it that much clearer how much he'd fucked up by leaving.

The worst part about all this goddamn personal growth? He knew that he'd have to do the hard thing. And he really, _really_ didn't want to. He'd rather face down a thousand tentacle monsters, mangled assassins, and evil soul-stealing robots all at once than talk about his feelings. But that was just the problem, wasn't it? If he wanted to move forward with his life, and stop living out the same old song and dance, he couldn't just throw it all away like it meant nothing.

"Uh, Rita? You almost done with that batch of waffles?" He asked, resigning himself to his fate.

"Nearly there, boss! Why?"

"I think maybe Jet might want some too. And you should go ask him about it."

Rita's eyes went wide.

"You know what? I think you're right! I betcha Buddy and Vespa would want some too. Hey, by the by, it's too bad about that cough you're developing. You know, the one that's real loud, so that people know when you're done havin' conversations in other rooms. Sure is a shame. Anyway! You kids have fun, I'll be back eventually!" She hurried out of the room, door banging behind her.

Shaking his head, he leaned on the counter. Nureyev had his eyes trained steadfastly on the chipped, yellowing mug in his hands, like he didn't dare look up. This was going to be painful.

But at least he’d only have to do it once.

"Hey. Nur–Quill. You alright?" That got his attention.

"Of course, Detective. I'm always alright." He smiled, and there was Rex Glass again. "And how are _you_ doing?"

"Nuh uh. Nope. None of that. I'm calling bullshit on your whole," Juno waved his hands vaguely in his direction. "deal."

"I can't begin to imagine what you're talking about."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Nureyev."

The weight of his name hung heavy in the ship's recycled air; a burden both had been carrying but neither wanted to acknowledge.

"What exactly is it you want from me, Juno?” He dropped all pretense, and if Juno didn’t know better he’d say Nureyev was on the brink of a breakdown. “Who would you like me to be, just for your benefit? The suave homme fatale? The dashing train-robber? The former revolutionary? Give me a role and I'll fill it, Detective, but don't presume to look down on me for trying to move forward." He set his cup down with a resounding _thunk_.

"Don't... just don't." Juno crossed his arms, heart pounding in his chest. He was past the point of no return now, may as well go all in. "I don't want you to pretend to be anything. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Peter laughed, but the sound grated on his ears.

"Okay? No. No, Juno, I don't think what I'm feeling could be classified anywhere in the same galaxy as okay. How do you think this feels for me? I am _trying_ to be considerate and give you space, I am _trying_ to keep it together for long enough that I can begin to feel human again, and I am _failing_."

“I’m– fuck. I don’t want to say I’m sorry.” He flinched, feeling the coppery tang of regret in his mouth as soon as he said it. “I mean, I do. Of course I do. But you deserve better than any apology I could give you. You’ve gotta understand, I wasn’t trying to hurt you when... when I...” He trailed off, not wanting to put words to the actions that had left him feeling entirely hollowed out.

“Left me? You may as well say it, Juno. I’ve a feeling we _both_ stand to benefit from naming what happened. You saw inside my head, blew a monster to hell and tried to follow her there , and then you left. With more knowledge and power over me than anyone has ever had, or ever will have, and what was I to think? That you were so disgusted with me, with what you’d agreed to, that there was no other way? Or worse, that you wished that you had followed Miasma off this mortal coil and were leaving to try and finish the job?” Peter’s voice grew louder with each sentence, building and finally breaking as he pulled out a chair and collapse into it.

“What was I to think?” He repeated, quietly, more to himself than to Juno.

Silence hung heavy between them, and Juno couldn’t quite meet his eye. He could feel the countertop digging into his back, and tried to anchor himself in physical sensations. The edge of the counter, the slightly sweet smell of waffles, the steady pulse of fluorescent lights, whatever would keep him from bursting into tears. Again. The moment he felt himself return to his body, he crossed to where Peter sat, and knelt next to him.

“I _never_ thought– I never would’ve left if I knew that’s what was going through your head. I just... I know what I’m like. You’d have gotten tired of me in a second, and then you’d be stuck with me. I couldn’t just sit by and watch that happen. Even if I only had to see it with one eye,” he chuckled weakly, “I didn’t want you to... look at me how you were lookin’ at me that night, and watch that fade into nothing. I figured if I just disappeared, you’d get over me and move on to the next beam of starlight.”

“I see. You think so little of me that I could just leave you for dead. Yes, that’s very comforting, thank you Detective.” The edge was creeping back into Peter’s voice, and something in Juno broke.

“Right. Okay. Yeah, I’m just gonna...” he stood, clearing his throat. His fight or flight reflexes were screaming at him to _do something, break something, get OUT OF THERE_. He managed to retain control over them, for the moment. “I guess I’ll just go back to my room then. I’m sorry Nureyev. Really. I.... yeah. Okay.”

Instinct alone propelled him out the door, and straight into Rita. Her hand flew over her mouth.

“Boss...” Her voice quivered, and he let her wrap him into a rib-crushing hug.

“I guess you heard all that.” He mumbled into her hair. His heart was still pounding, and he was a sweating, shaky mess, but at least he had Rita there to hold him together.  
“Only if you wanted me too. I wasn’t tryin’ to spy I just was so curious, I... Oh Mistah Steel. I’m so proud of you.” She looked up at him, lip wobbling in a valiant effort not to cry. Juno laughed.

“Thanks, Rita. I think...” He paused, sniffling. “I think you’re fired.”

“Understood. Let’s go to my room, I got plenty of snacks in there anyway, and we’ve still got face masks and nail polish and all kinds of fun, sparkly things.” She pulled away only to take his hand. For once, he was content to let himself have this one nice thing.

After all, he’d earned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! guess what! i didn't forget about this fic, or any of the others i've been working on. the last few weeks have been hellacious but I'm hoping it's winding down for a bit, so i have time to work on everything i've got planned. sorry this is so short, but it took a lot out of me so here we are. 
> 
> i think we're nearing the end of this one, but never fear! i have a word doc a mile long with other ideas. I'm also working on a king falls am AU that i'm super proud of, and a ton of other things. Here's hoping life doesn't get in the way.
> 
> as always, your kudos and comments absolutely fuel me and i love them more than anything. I'm sasqwitch across all platforms, so if you wanna come yell at me feel free! i love yelling!


	7. Chapter 7

One of the manifold benefits of living in space: there is no real indicator of time beyond one’s own internal clock. So Peter really couldn’t say how long he remained at the table, staring down at the synth-wood grain. In his defense, Juno Steel had just reached into his rib cage and wrenched his heart and lungs from their rightful places. He could allow himself a little time to sit  with the hollow feeling left behind.

He supposed he should feel something. Vindication, perhaps; he’d clearly made the former detective feel absolutely terrible, and claimed what he could of his vengeance. And yet, there he was, left behind once again. He was sixteen again, newly orphaned by his own hand, staring down the lonely future he’d never wanted. Then, underground, trapped on the other side of a door he desperately wanted to pry open. A warm hotel room in a too-cold bed, and always always always alone. No masks left to hide behind, Peter Nureyev was a trembling mess in an aging body.

Why didn’t he say something? Another, potentially more helpful question: What stopped him from getting up, chasing Juno down the hall, and clinging to him like all his most primal instincts demanded he do?

Certainly at this point, pride had flown out the window.

No matter whose mask he wore, Peter Nureyev had always been an exceedingly proud man. It was the kind of thing he could never shake from the set of his jaw, or the tilt of his shoulders. But he had broken himself down completely for Juno Steel, and the remaining pieces had lost that essential shine.

Without it, he was entirely empty. A mere vessel, for the Ira Quills and the Duke Roses and the Rex Glasses to stake their claim on his countenance.

“Mistah... Mistah Quill?” Rita stood before him, pajama-clad and slightly damp. He blinked, as though just regaining consciousness.

“Sorry. I appear to have been quite lost in thought.” He tried to smile, and very nearly succeeded.

“Maybe you should go back to sleep too.” She reached out a hand, hesitant, before settling it on his shoulder. It was warm. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him like that, just to anchor him in the present and make sure he was okay. Or rather, he could, but those memories were rather tied up in tombs and bombs and Martians and other things he’d been resolutely trying not to think about.

“Too?”

“It’s still pretty early, so the boss went back to sleep. I don’t think anyone else is up yet, or if they are they have the good sense to stay outta here and in their nice warm beds.” Her hand fell from his shoulder, and he missed the contact.

“I see.”

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want. I’ve gotta clean up in here, plus all these waffles ain’t gonna eat themselves. I could freeze ‘em, but Ms. Aurinko said not to take up valuable real estate in there and I don’t wanna get on her bad side.” Rita drew back slightly, and he knew an invitation when he saw one.

“I confess I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment. My apologies.”

“Just... Look. I know you’re real keen on bein’ a mystery man, and that’s great and all, but I know what hurtin’ looks like and I know you’re doin’ it. And I know Mistah Steel is too, but he’s got me. You don’t have a Rita to paint your nails and brush out your hair and tell you it’s gonna be okay. So, I guess what I’m sayin’ is... It’s gonna be okay. Even if it doesn’t feel like it now, even if you feel like the whole world just got yanked out from under you, you just gotta put one foot in front of the other and keep walkin’.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He muttered, but made no efforts to move.

“I know I don’t know you real well, but... can I ask? What’s goin’ on there? The boss refuses to tell me much of anything, but I got theories.”

“I’d love to hear them.” Peter suddenly felt very heavy, and far too warm. He had never been keen on the idea of people discussing him when he wasn’t there to control the conversation, but his curiouscity always did get the better of him.

“Well, for starters, I know you gotta be some kinda destructive. Now, I’m not tryin’ to hurt your feelings, but Mistah Steel... he can’t just go for the nice, harmless ones. He just feels like he doesn’t deserve anything easy, which is so sad because love _should_ be easy. Of course, I ain’t stupid, love never is, but gosh wouldn’t it be better if it was? We can just love each other and everything is sparkly and framed in fuzzy pipe cleaners, and nobody hurts anybody. Mistah Steel said he hurt you real bad, but wouldn’t say how. If I had to guess I’d say he tried to run. He’s always tryin’ to run away from his problems. I mean I love him like he’s my own brother, and he’s gotten a _lot_ better, but he’s a regular escape artist when it comes to relationships. Doesn’t think he deserves other people. You shoulda seen how hard I had to try to be his friend, Mistah Quill or whoever you are. It was a real trial, I’ll tell you that much. But my mama didn’t raise a quitter! And even if he don’t wanna believe it, he’s a real good lady deep down. He had a hard time comin’ up, so he feels like he just deserves to be sad all the time. He thinks that no one will ever wanna get to know him, so he just doesn’t let ‘em! He puts up this front, see, of who he thinks he ought to be, but he’s soft on the inside. And sometimes, when you’re soft on the insides, when someone can get straight to your mushy parts that’s really, really scary. And sometimes you lean into it and forget about everything else but how you’re feelin’ and sometimes that feels good but then somethin’ happens and you close up again. Your mushy parts get all crusty because you think no one will wanna see in there again because one time one person who was also hurtin’ just as bad as you made a mistake because they were just followin’ a pattern that they’ve set for themselves their whole lives. And then, sometimes, they go on this great journey of self discovery and aren’t completely recovered because who among us ever can be? But they’re doin’ okay and you’re still wounded so you can’t handle it. And you try to put up a mask but it keeps fallin’ apart because you wanna show them your mushy parts again but you can’t really trust them, or yourself, to make the same old mistakes.”

Peter sat, transfixed. She hadn’t met his eyeline once, busying herself with cleaning and storing waffles in places he knew he’d have to pilfer from later, but nevertheless had completely seen right through him. He wasn’t sure, exactly, when they’d stopped talking about Juno and started talking about him, but clearly she had his number.

“Is that so.” He tried to retain at least a veneer of calm, shaken as he was.

“Oh, sure. I mean, I’m just nobody special. I watch a lotta streams, is all. And the thing about people is, they follow scripts just like the streams do. They’re a lot more complicated but the principles are the same. And I get real good at recognizing patterns when I see them.” She sighed, and finally met his gaze. “Look. Like I said, I don’t know you. But I know that you gotta let yourself feel things, and you gotta be nice to yourself about the feelings you have. Grieve for what you lose, pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and live to fight another day. And talk to the people you love, when you can. Because sometimes? They slip away. But you knew that already.”

She smiled, and in a surprising gesture of goodwill, reached out to give his hand a slightly-sweaty squeeze.

“You two’ll work it out. Mistah Steel is real stubborn, when he decides he loves someone. Even if you can’t tell from how he acts, he ain’t a quitter either.”

“Thank you, Rita.”

“For what?”

“For... being ‘my Rita’ for a little while. I’ve never... I can’t say I’ve had a pep talk quite like that before.”

“Don’t you worry, Mistah–“

His heart pounded, but his resolve didn’t waver.

“You can call me Peter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahahahaha im sad
> 
> sorry this has taken so long, my brain has just fully not been working and I've suffered. but hopefully im on the comeback so there should be more of that #content soon
> 
> i thrive on your comments/kudos!
> 
> ok thanks love you bye


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Juno woke up from what he was Not allowing Rita to call “another one of his sad-lady naps,” he had reluctantyly decided to give up on chasing Nureyev.

Sure, he was a changed lady. But Nureyev deserved someone in a completely different ballpark than the unsteady ground that could barely support Juno Steel. He could see it now, and was beginning to get okay with it. Really. Well, maybe not “okay” but okay-ish. Fine. He would just have to limit his socialization to mission-specific tasks, and Rita.

On second thought, maybe not Rita.

“Oh, Boss! You shoulda seen me! I was a regular Dr. Laura. Not the new reboot Dr. Laura, I don’t have the tentacles for that, but like... three reboots ago! All that stuff just came right outta me, and you’ll never guess what else.”

“What else, Rita?” He was still sitting in her bed, buried under a mound of increasingly fuzzy blankets.

“You have to guess! Or else it’s no fun.” She giggled, poking him lightly on the arm.

“You just said I’ll never guess. How am I supposed to guess the thing I’ll never guess?”

“Well I dunno, you’re the detective not me.”

“Why don’t you just tell me.” He sighed closing his eyes and succumbing to his fate of death by duvet. There were worse ways to go, all things considered. And he had considered many of them.

“He. Told. Me.” She paused, for effect. “To call him. PETER.”

Juno’s eyes snapped open and he shot straight up in the bed—dislodging several pillows as he did so and shoving blanket after blanket to the floor.

“He WHAT.”

“Yeah! After I gave him the ole Rita Special, he just out and told me to call him Peter! I mean, I’m assumin’ when we’re alone because he doesn’t want the rest of the crew to call him that. Oh NO––Mistah Steel you can NOT tell him I told you, it’s gotta be a REAL big secret or else he wouldn’ta acted so funny when I called him Peter. You can’t tell him, promise me. I’ll do anything you tell me to, I’ll make you all the peanut butter sandwiches in the WORLD and I won’t even make fun of you for not eating the crusts—even though what grown up person doesn’t eat the crusts off a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Wait. No. FOCUS Rita! Mistah Steel pleeease don’t say anything to him.”

“I...” He took a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth like those self-help tapes she’d snuck onto his comms always told him to. “I won’t, Rita. Besides, I already knew his name.”

“You did?!? Why didn’t you say anything? Is he some sort of interstellar secret spy, and he can never reveal his true identity to anyone, except he fell so hard and fast for you that he just HAD to tell you his big secret? Oh GOSH Boss that’s so romantic. Except... oh, I bet you woulda hated bein’ trusted with that kind of power over a person. I bet that’d make you feel real twisted up inside.”

“Something like that, yeah.” He took another breath. “Listen, Rita... I can smell myself from here, and I really gotta shower. Thanks for your hospitality, but I’m gonna go.”

“Oh, sure, no problem boss! Besides, I gotta process all this new information! Ooooh I wish I could tell Franny about this. But I won’t!” She added, after Juno gave her a pointed look. “I won’t. I just wish I could, is all.”

Somehow, he made it back to the confines of his own sparse room—he couldn’t remember the trek, only that he had somehow put one foot in front of the other until he was in front of his own door again. Nureyev’s door stood slightly open, but he didn’t dare look inside. Twisting the lock behind him, he propelled himself to his bed and collapsed face down.

Why would Nureyev tell Rita his name? Not all of his name, sure—but Juno knew firsthand what she could do with even the smallest scrap of information. The man had all but signed his own search warrant, and if Juno were a betting lady he’d bet that Rita’d track him down within the hour. If not sooner. If she hadn’t already.

So: Why?

He’d asked himself a strikingly similar question when Nureyev left that note. A gift, freely given, but too heavy for just one person to bear. It’s gotta be lonely, being Peter Nureyev. Who can you trust, besides yourself? Maybe he’s just looking for some kind of human connection, proof that he’s alive.

After all, Juno realized, it is completely within the realm of possibility that Peter Nureyev has never had a real, genuine friend.

The image of a younger, lankier Nureyev pops into his head unbidden. Curled in on himself, sleeping on the street, shaking from the cold. All alone.

Then, the remembrance of the man he’d left in the kitchen. Stronger, more experienced, but no less alone– no thanks to Juno, but he tried to push that unhelpful thought out of his mind. He may be a fuckup but hey, at least he can attempt to spend a minute or two thinking about someone besides himself. He knew first-hand, all that loneliness and isolation can make someone a real narcissist.

Before he could go any further down that particular rabbit hole, someone knocked on his door. He froze, considering the possibilities. Just two knocks, so it couldn’t be Rita. Solid pressure, not too heavy– couldn’t be Vespa. The little he’d seen of her included slamming her hands so hard on the table the vibrations sent her fork rattling to the floor. And it couldn’t be Buddy; not once had he even seen her in this part of the ship. So that left two options.

Under the circumstances, he wasn’t sure which one he should hope for.

(He knew exactly who he was hoping for.)

“Juno.”

(He was disappointed.)

“Hey, Big Guy. Listen. I’m sure you’re here to have the kind of heart to heart that’s apparently catching around here, but I really don’t have the time or the energy for that.”

“Are you experiencing the symptoms of a hangover?” Jet inclined his head in what he clearly thought was an understanding manner. The spiteful voice in Juno’s head wanted to spit in his face for being condescending. To be fair, recovery is a process and Juno had had a series of very hard mornings. And afternoons, and twilights, and evenings, and really any time of day you can think of.

“I’m fine.” He managed, through gritted teeth, to keep his bodily fluids to himself. For now.

“I just wanted to commend you. You have come so far since our last meeting, and I am very impressed with your progress.”

“I.... Thanks.” Embarrassment clogged his throat and very nearly kept him from getting the words out. “I’ve been... you know... trying.”

“That is all I have to say. If you wish to discuss this further, you can approach me any time.”  
“Thanks.”  
Juno sat back down on his bed, more baffled than before.

Another double-knock sounded at his door. Lighter, but only slightly.

“It’s still unlocked. What, do you wanna toss a ball around? Maybe play some pickup basketball? I can’t really dunk but I’m happy to–– Nureyev.”

Peter hovered in the doorway, very nearly smiling.

“I can’t say I’m here for any athletic endeavors but it’s good to know the offer is open.” He said, voice soft and eyes softer.

“I...” Juno started.

“Please, Detective. If I may. I am unused to caring about people, much less them caring for me in return. I seem to be very bad at it. I don’t want to push you away. But, it has been made clear to me that we are both very, very different people than we were. For better or worse, we don’t know each other anymore–– if we ever really knew each other at all. But from what I’ve heard, this Juno Steel character is someone I’d dearly like to acquaint myself with.”

“That’s funny, because I’ve heard good things about Ira Quill, too.” Juno stood, unsure of what direction to go in but knowing he couldn’t be still any longer.

“More’s the pity. Ira Quill is conspicuously absent from this room right now. Or at least, he’s trying to be–“

If there was any more to that thought, it was lost somewhere between a steadying embrace and the sweet crush of the kind of kiss that feels like it’s going to last the rest of your life… until it’s over, and you know you got as much as you deserved. But this time, there would be more where that came from. Much, much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. 
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with the way this is ending up, and I'm really sorry it took so long, but this is what I could wring out of myself. Real life stuff plus feeling wholly uninspired and also disconnected from everything means that I didn't get to give this the ending that I felt like it deserved (ha) but I think this is as close as I can get for now. Maybe one day I will come back and revisit this fic to make some improvements but I hope you enjoyed it as it stands right now!
> 
> I am slowly but surely trying to get back into writing things (as well as being a more active part of the fandom, so if there is anything you'd like to see in the future or you have any resounding thoughts please feel free to let me know!
> 
> Otherwise, thank you for reading this, for leaving comments and kudos, and helping me to complete a fic for the first time in my life


End file.
